Kickball Observations
by Muggle-Marauder
Summary: Before you read this, check out my profile. If you don't, I will get bombarded with questions that could have been answered there. It's for fun, kids, come on.


Author's Note: _A lot of the REAL story line is lost on these. As I said in my profile (which I hope you read), this is just for fun and has no real meaning or anything. If you don't like it, don't read it. If you do, thanks._

_PS: DarkLadyofRavenclaw -- Did you get my e-mail? Just wondering. Thanks for all your kind words.

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**_Kickball Observations_**

He looked at her through narrowed eyes and she leaned back on her palms.

"Watch out," he warned. "Someone might step on your hands."

The young girl sat up again, and placed her hands in her lap. The breeze sent her blonde curls flying out behind her and the boy cocked his head a little to the side. She smiled at him, his sandy hair blowing about his forehead.

"Why did your parents call you Neville?" she wondered aloud.

This question caught him off-guard and he had to think for a minute.

"I dunno. I sort of wish they hadn't. I always liked names like Joe, or John, or Michael, or even Russell. Never Neville."

"You look like a Neville, though."

He frowned at this and leaned back on his palms, just as he'd advised her not to do.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you don't look like a Joe, or a John, or a Michael, or even a Russell. Just Neville."

He had always thought Neville sounded like a name for a loser with broken glasses and a pocket-protector.

A foot landed hard on his hand.

Neville shouted and jumped to his feet, waving his hand frantically in the air.

She watched him, amused.

"Sorry, Neville, didn't see your hand there," a young boy with bright red hair panted, holding a kickball under one arm.

"I shouldn't have put it there. My fault."

"You alright?" another boy inquired, this one sporting glasses.

"I'm fine," Neville insisted.

"He's fine," the red-head agreed.

"Are you sure? Can you move your fingers? Let me see your fingers," the other boy demanded, reaching out for the hand in question.

"I'm fine, Harry, leave me alone," Neville waved him off.

Harry rolled his eyes and he and the red-head wandered back to their places in the game.

Neville took his place once again on the asphalt, bringing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs.

"Can you move your fingers?" she asked.

"Of course I can move my fingers."

"Let me see."

He wiggled his fingers in the air.

"Good. I was worried for a moment."

"You didn't look worried."

"Do you know why my parents called me Luna?"

He raised an eyebrow at her sudden change of direction.

"No, why?"

"I wouldn't ask if I knew."

He furrowed his brow and rested his chin on his knees. Luna smiled again.

"I like the color of your eyes," she commented, leaning forward on her elbows.

"Oh, really?" Neville mumbled, crossing his eyes. "I can't see the color from here."

She laughed and he brought his knees down to sit cross-legged with a smile.

"I like your laugh," he told her, somewhat awkwardly.

"Thanks. I bet I'd like yours, too."

"And your eyes," he went on, noticing, not for the first time, the way the blue sparkled when she looked at him. "I like your eyes. They're my favorite colour."

"Blue is your favorite color?"

"No. Green was my favorite color this morning when I woke up. I never liked blue before," Neville realized.

"But my eyes are blue."

"Nah, they're more than that. They're like ... sky and ... water ... all at the same time."

Luna propped her head in her hand and observed him as he studied her eyes.

"They're blue," she stated.

"They're pretty," he decided and she looked away shyly.

The kickball zoomed over them and the red-head ran past. As he came back, he stopped and looked down at his friend and the girl.

"You'd better watch out, Neville. Harry's up next and he tends to kick a little to left field. You're in left field. You and your girl may want to move."

"Thanks, Ron," the boy said without really looking up, acknowledging that Luna had just been referred to as 'his'.

The boy jogged back into the game.

"Do you want to move?" Neville questioned.

In answer, she stood and retreated to the grass a few feet away. He scuttled forward on the seat of his pants and, when she settled, he moved to sit beside her.

"We're still in left field, you know," he put in, looking over at her.

She smiled and nodded," Yeah, I know. But these are the best seats for the game."

Neville stretched his legs out in front of him and she scooted closer. Out of danger of being trampled on, he leaned back on his palms, one arm behind the girl.

Harry kicked the ball and it went wide to the left and fouled.

"Ron called it," Luna mumbled. Neville spied her hand on her knee and, after a brief moment of deliberation, took it in his own. Instead of shaking him off like he was sure she would, she intertwined their fingers.

He smiled at her glittering purple nail polish and looked up at the game.

"Yeah. Ron always calls it."


End file.
